It Was the Fourth of July
by sweetgirl8353
Summary: "Captain Rogers." "Agent. It seems we'll be working together for the foreseeable future." "Indeed, it does." "Well, if that's the case, I'll need something to call you." "Agent 13 works just fine." "What? Don't you have a name?" "That's on a need to know basis. And you don't need to know."
1. Prologue

**_August 3_** ** _rd_** ** _, 1994_**

 ** _Arlington, VA_**

 _'_ _I see skies of blue and clouds of white, the bright blessed day, the dark sacred night. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.'_

The crooning voice of Louis Armstrong filtered softly throughout the living room of the comfortably aged and settled Cape Cod. The white house, settled among a thicket of trees, sat perched up high on an incline, overlooking the sleepy Bellevue Forest neighborhood. In the distance laughter could be heard as a group of young boys played a pickup game of baseball in the street. The music rang out peacefully through the open windows as a light, summer breeze pushed the transparent curtains back and forth in an airy dance.

A thunderstorm the night before had dissipated the thick humidity that was usual this time of year. The air was light and refreshing. Louis' dulcet tones were uninterrupted except for the occasional scratch of the needle on the record. It was quiet in the open living room as the sole occupant busied herself with her scented marker masterpiece. Bright shades of blue, yellows and greens clashed together as a rough image of a garden grew and took shape.

Seven year old Sharon Elizabeth Marie Carter was hunched over the coffee table, her face scrunched up in concentration as she scribbled freely with a red marker reeking of strawberries. Her mass of blonde curls rested atop her head in a ponytail and she frequently was blowing her bangs out of her eyes. Resting lopsided on the couch was Sharon's most prized possession and her partner in crime, her Bucky Bear. He was immaculately dressed in his snug, dark blue jacket. The only sign of wear and tear being a missing button and rattled fur where Sharon had once spilled juice on him.

 _'_ _I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do, but they're really saying I love you.'_

Pleased with her masterpiece so far, Sharon pulled a wrapped lollipop from one of her numerous denim overall pockets and popped it in her mouth theatrically. In the kitchen could be heard a low whistling and steady click of a cane.

"Do you want carrots with lunch Sweet Pea?" Uncle Daniel called out from the kitchen as Sharon gasped and turned betrayed towards the entrance even though he couldn't see her.

"No carrots! I'll turn orange if I eat carrots."

A head of almost entirely grey hair peeked to look into the living room as a face worn with age turned upward into a smile. Crinkles around the eyes and mouth appeared giving away the fact that the man in questioned had spent much of his life smiling and laughing. Daniel Sousa's smile turned more amused as her took in Sharon's fierce frown and her stubby arms crossed across her chest.

"And who told you that carrots turned you orange?"

"Sally Jenkins from Mrs. Foster's class. She said…she said that if you eat too many carrots you'll turn orange, and Uncle Daniel I don't want to be orange! If I had to be any color I'd be blue."

"Oh, like Violet Beauregarde? You want to be a big blueberry?"

"She _was_ violet, Uncle Daniel." Daniel had to bit his lip to prevent his grin from growing bigger in the face of his great-niece's ire.

"My mistake. Alright, no carrots. How about green beans?"

"Yummy. And peaches! We just picked the peaches yesterday!"

"I'd never forget the peaches. Lunch will be ready in a few minutes, but before that, I have a mission for you."

Sharon perked up at the word 'mission' and tossed her marker to the side as she gave all her attention to Daniel, her brown eyes wide and attentive.

"Mission?! Give me the mission!"

"Okay, here it is. Your objective is: get Aunt Peggy to leave her paperwork in the office and join us for lunch. Also, make sure to wash your hands before sitting at the table."

"Got it, sir!"

"On your way then, Agent Carter."

He saluted Sharon with a grin before returning to the kitchen as the young child sprang into action. Not content to merely walk to Aunt Peggy's office down the hall, Sharon somersaulted her way there. She grew too dizzy and disoriented by the fourth roll and sprawled across the hallway carpet as the world spun and spun.

She pushed herself up and quietly crept down the remainder of the hallway to the door that was only cracked open an inch or so. She kept her steps light as she remembered the first rule of spy work: always take your opponent by surprise. As she neared the door the crisp tone of Margaret 'Peggy' Carter could be heard as she conversed on the telephone.

"I know you have the situation handled Nick, but you can't mind an old woman worrying. Just because I'm retired, does not mean I am content to sit on my ass and just let the world pass me by."

Sharon loved listening to her Aunt Peggy talk. No one sounded like Aunt Peggy. Mom always said it was because Peggy wasn't born in the States like Sharon and her mother, but came from the United Kingdom ("Aunt Peggy is from a real kingdom? Is there a king and queen and dragons?"), the same magical land Sharon's father was born in. Though her father had spent most of his life living in the United States, even he didn't sound like Aunt Peggy.

Hearing Aunt Peggy say one of her mother's forbidden words of 'ass' made Sharon giggle and she gasped, trying to stifle the sounds into her hands. Her aunt paused for a moment and Sharon held her breath. She then jumped as Aunt Peggy spoke loudly,

"I'm sorry Nick, could you hold for a moment? I seem to have a little spy outside my door. Dearest? Is that you?"

Sharon sheepishly pushed the door open to peer into the spacious office that was Peggy's haven. Behind Peggy the entire wall was bookshelves filled with thick tomes written in a variety of different languages. Peggy had once sat down Sharon with a large, dusty one that was filled with a gibberish language Aunt Peggy called 'Latin.' It hadn't made any sense to Sharon. Covering the floor was a large and brightly patterned Persian rug that Peggy had claimed was a gift from a Shah from the Middle East. The centerpiece of the office was Peggy's fortress: her sturdy, dark stained oak desk. Uncle Daniel joked that Aunt Peggy spent more time at the desk than anywhere else in their house, even their bed.

Even though she was past the age of 70, time had been good to Peggy Carter. Her hair was still thick and voluminous with smatters of brown still present throughout the grey. Retirement had not been enough to dull Peggy's routine of wearing rollers to bed each night to produce high quality curls every day. She was dressed primly in a satin blouse and high wasted trousers and her signature scarlet red lipstick drew one's attention to her full mouth and beautiful face.

"What brings you into my lair, dearest?"

"I'm on a mission." Sharon stated proudly, jutting her chin out as Peggy quirked an eyebrow in merriment.

"And what's this top secret mission?"

"I have to make you come to lunch. Uncle Daniel cooked and everything."

"I would bloody hope he did, seeing as I am useless in the kitchen. Give me a minute, dearest, and then we'll complete your mission."

Sharon nodded, her curls bouncing as Peggy flashed her a smile and went back to talking on the phone. Sharon twirled around in a circle as her eyes flashed to the collage of photos on the far right wall. She ambled over to the black and white photographs of Peggy's life. Sharon smiled as she looked over the familiar faces. In the corner was a shot of Peggy and Daniel from their wedding day, Uncle Daniel sporting a large grin and crooked bowtie as he lifted Peggy's lace veil. Next to it was a candid photo of Peggy holding a small, wriggling bundle that was her and Daniel's daughter Jill the day she was born. Following that was a picture of Jill, Sharon's dad and his sister, Sharon's Aunt Judy in front of a brightly lit Christmas tree as the three children posed in matching Christmas sweaters. Sharon's eyes darted upwards and she looked at the photograph of Uncle Dum-Dum giving a boisterous laugh, arms spread wide, and mustache larger than life as he laughed at a joke Uncle Gabe had just given with Uncle Monty crinkling his nose in the background with Uncle Jim and Uncle Jacques rolling their eyes, looking as if this nonsense had happened a hundred times before. Knowing them, it probably had.

The next photo was always hard for Sharon to understand as it was blurry and had been taken in poor lighting. All one could really make out was the hunched profile of a soldier bracing against the wind as he smoked a cigarette. The only clear indication that it was Bucky Barnes, her Bucky Bear's namesake, was his distinct blue jacket, noticeable even in a black and white photograph.

At the center of this collage of Peggy's life and achievements was a single photo of a tall, handsomely built man decked out in the stars and stripes of the United States. At his side rested a red and white shield. His blonde hair was tousled and his eyes distant as he looked ahead, eyes not focused on the camera that had caught him unawares.

This was Steve Rogers. The hero of all of Aunt Peggy's war stories. Sharon had grown up hearing the wild tales of the 'little kid from Brooklyn' who had single handedly saved the world with the sheer power of his will.

It wasn't until Sharon had started school last year that she realized that everyone knew Steve Rogers. She had also learned that he had had another name: Captain America.

The Star Spangled Man with a Plan.

To Peggy and Sharon, he had always been Steve.

Sharon loved hearing stories of Steve Rogers, even though sometimes she didn't want to ask Peggy about him, because then Aunt Peggy would sometimes seems sad. And Sharon never wanted Peggy to be sad. Peggy was her favorite person in the world and her favorite person should never do anything but smile.

Sharon stared at Steve Rogers for a moment longer before her attention span demanded she look elsewhere or be perpetually bored. She turned her brown eyes to a golden medal hanging off the wall. She rocked up onto her tip toes and reached out her small fingers to grasp onto it as the emblem of an eagle stood out to her.

"What have you got there dearest?"

So enraptured in her young musings, Sharon hadn't even noticed Peggy had ended her phone call and was not standing behind the seven year old. Sharon had failed lesson two of spy work: always be aware of your surroundings.

"I was just looking at your medal."

"Ah, yes. Pretty isn't it?" Peggy reached out and pulled the medal down from the wall and held it out in the palm of her hand as she kneeled down beside Sharon so the girl could have a better look. Sharon eagerly ran her fingers over the cool metal as she picked it up, judging the weight critically.

"It's heavier than it looks." She announced to her aunt who nodded.

"That it is. Do you know what it says on it?" Sharon angled the medal towards it as she carefully read out the letters.

"SHIELD."

"Yes, very good. And do you know what SHIELD stands for?"

"Oh, yes! You told me this! Strategic…Strategic Homeland…and…and."

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

"That's what I was going to say!" Sharon pouted at Peggy, her lip jutting out.

"I know dearest, I just couldn't help myself."

"What does it mean? SHIELD?"

At this question Peggy paused and blinked, gathering her thoughts for a moment before regarding her niece with grave eyes.

"SHIELD helps people. It does what other organizations and people cannot in order to do the right thing. SHIELD is trying to make the world a better place."

"Just like you?" Sharon asked leaning into her aunt's personal space, reaching out to grasp her shoulders. Her hero worship of Peggy was clear and true as she blinked up at her aunt. To be faced with that kind of trust and confidence warmed Peggy to her soul as she wrapped an arm around Sharon and tugged her nearer.

"I try my best, but I'm only human."

"But you're the bestest human! You started SHIELD so it must be good! I just know it." Sharon nodded with conviction to get her point across as she reached out and laid her hands against Peggy's cheeks. Peggy smiles against Sharon's hands as she watched her niece delightedly.

"Is that so?"

Sharon nodded vigorously and used her hands to make Peggy nod as well.

"Yes! It's so good that one day I'm going to be a SHIELD agent."

Peggy blinked and watched Sharon for a moment as she bit back a hitch of her throat, her heart fluttering in her chest.

"You really want to be an agent of SHIELD?"

Sharon nodded gravely as she glanced back down at the medal.

"I don't want to be anything else…except maybe a Power Ranger."

Peggy bit back a smile as she tucked a loose strand of Sharon's hair behind her ear.

"Well, one day I think you'll make a fine SHIELD agent, or Power Ranger. Whichever you chose to be, I'll be very proud of you."

Sharon giggled and clapped her hands as Peggy slowly stood and hung the medal back onto the wall. She turned to her great-niece and held out her hand.

"Let's go complete your mission and eat lunch, Agent Carter."

Sharon smiled widely up at Peggy, highlighting the gap of her missing tooth.

"After you, Director Carter."

The two Carter females walked out of the office leaving behind the photos of the past to rejoin the time of the present.


	2. Fucking Aliens

**_May 7_** ** _th_** ** _, 2012._**

 ** _Over the Atlantic._**

Aliens.

Fucking aliens.

And not the friendly E.T. sort, but rather the conquer all and leave nothing but ashes and bones behind sort, circa _Independence Day_.

Somedays, Sharon Carter couldn't believe this was the world she was living in. It wasn't enough that an egocentric billionaire was flying around in a tin can and a giant, smashing green monster tore apart Harlem, and hints that whatever SHIELD had covered up in Puente Antiguo last year had something to do with actual gods from other worlds.

Nope. Now aliens were a part of the equation.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

The quinjet hit a shot of turbulence and Sharon shuddered in a deep breath as the ship shook and rattled momentarily before righting itself and continuing on its trajectory over the Atlantic towards New York. She was in the belly of the ship, sitting snugly in her chair as the chatter of the two pilots in the cockpit filtered back towards her.

Spread across her lap were paper clippings and data pads all displaying the awe-inspiring horror that had occurred days before in New York. Across from her three monitors were displaying the same images through newscasts as SHIELD tech dumped info across the screens. At the moment Christine Everhart from WHIH was interviewing witnesses from the attack and Sharon had to roll her eyes at Everhart's dramatic delivery and the fact she was strutting through the burning remains of Grand Central Terminal in four inch Louboutin heels. The neighboring monitor was playing on loop the opening of the colossal portal above Stark Tower over and over again, as each time a wave of…whatever those _things_ were kept pouring out.

A week ago Sharon's life had been normal, or at least as normal as life could be for an agent of SHIELD.

For the last five weeks she had been deep undercover in Macau sousing out a large string of human trafficking rings of minors. Finding the rings has been the strenuous part, taking them out had proven easy and efficient. She had been in the process of wrapping her mission up neatly with a bow when noise from SHIELD started clambering in. It had been disjointed, jumbled and incoherent.

Sharon had been only able to make out a little:

A SHIELD facility had been destroyed, a weapon was stolen, an unfriendly was roaming freely and Agent Barton had been compromised.

All previous missions were nixed. Anyone who was in the near vicinity was to report to the closest SHIELD facility or helicarrier, everyone else was to burrow and go to ground to the nearest safe house and await further instructions. No one was to engage with Barton.

Sharon had done just that and had waited with baited breath for the next shoe to drop. She didn't have to wait long.

She had been awakened in the middle of the night on May 5th (UTC time) to her SHIELD phone blearing out warnings. She had chaotically turned on her laptop and hooked into the SHIELD mainframe to see New York burning and crumbling before her eyes.

Three days later and New York was still burning.

Sharon sighed as she rubbed her eyes and looked away from the flashing monitors. She hadn't slept since waking up that fateful day in Macau. She was too jazzed to even think of sleeping in a time like this. The fear, the worry, the anger all mixed together with the dizzying sensation that this all had to be a dream had kept her from even resting her eyes.

Sharon didn't know what to think or believe as information kept pouring in from around the world.

Most of all, she wanted answers.

First, the evidence must be reviewed. With a calming breath Sharon rolled her neck and quietly took pleasure in the pops and cricks that followed the movement. She raised her brown eyes to the monitors and began replaying the footage. The quality wasn't ideal and the shakiness of it was so chaotic Sharon was positive she could have shot more coherent footage while riding a rollercoaster. That was neither here nor there.

What to take into account? First off: the players. Or as the world was calling them…the Avengers.

Iron Man was as visible and present as only Tony Stark could ever be. The red and gold flash zig zagged across the city leading those flying aliens on a crazy goose chase before shooting them down. Stark wasn't the only flashy character appearing on her screen. A towering blonde with wind swept locks and a giant lumberjack quality body with a red cape had been shown summoning lighting with his hammer atop the Chrysler Building. The few, scattered reports that had come in from SHIELD that hadn't been heavily redacted had identified the walking wet dream simply as 'Thor.' Apparently the antagonist of this whole thing had been Thor's brother, Loki.

Norse gods. Honestly.

Just as impressive as Thor, but not nearly as pretty to look at had been the green raging machine known as the Hulk. The last time Sharon had seen him on camera he had been destroying Harlem.

He must not like New York, Sharon mused as she watched the green giant crash into the public library taking out the entire Classics section. The hulk let forth a roar that had Sharon leaning back in her seat and fast forwarding away from his snarling face.

Now came time for the surprises of the footage.

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton.

The two top SHIELD agents and assassins had been right in the thicket of the craziness of the battle. Sharon watched as Barton, who she guessed had become uncompromised, took out aliens from his high perch on a skyscraper. She raised an eyebrow in interest as Natasha went from being the ground force to flying high with the alien fleet. Even buzzing around at a high speed and velocity Natasha had the skill to crush an alien head with her thighs.

Impressive.

But Nat was always impressive, so it wasn't her death defying feats that had captured Sharon's attention.

No, it was the red, white and blue stars and stripes that Sharon kept going back to as she reviewed the data.

A shield ricocheted throughout the footage as a man in the aforementioned colors and standards dodged left and right, taking out aliens with fueled packed punches.

He looked alarmingly like Captain America.

Not that there was a clear shot of the man without his helmet on but the fighter was purposefully playing up the image of the Star Spangled Man with a Plan.

There was nothing in Sharon's reports about the man; no name, no status, no identifying feature. He was just a man in an updated Captain America costume.

Sharon suspected Coulson had something to do with that.

But the question that Sharon kept coming back to was why? Why bring out the stars and stripes? Why create a new shield? Why resurrect Captain America from the history books?

The last time a 'Captain America' had seen the light of day had been the '50s when a neurotic fan by the name of Burnside had taken up the mantle against logic and reason. However, that fiasco had been short lived and Aunt Peggy had taken care of it.

Sharon sighed at the reminder of her aunt. She must be going out of her mind watching this footage…well, only if it was a good day. If it was a good day Peggy would be pouring over the same footage Sharon was and raging to know who had ever dared to take up the shield in Steve Rogers' name.

If it was a bad day…well, Sharon didn't like thinking of Peggy's bad days.

Sharon ran her hands through her short bob. Her natural honey blonde was covered by bright highlights and hair. She tugged her leather jacket closer to her as she tried to fight the chill of the quinjet. It was like an icebox in there. Rubbing her hands together for friction, she leaned back and rested her head against the wall of the quinjet, her eyes resting on the paused image of the middle monitor: at its center was the shield in midflight about to connect with the jaw of an unsuspecting alien.

What was Fury's game?

Why parade a man around like Captain America?

It seemed she wasn't the only one wanting to know. Sitting daintily in her lap were some of the international headlines of the last few days.

 **Captain America Alive?**

 **The Return of an American Hero?**

 **Return of the Stars, Stripes and Shield**

 **Who is the Man behind the Mask?**

Who, indeed.

Sharon would be having words with Fury when she landed. She needed to know why he did this. There was an uncomfortable tightness in her abdomen. Sharon didn't like this feeling of uncertainty that had been shadowing her since she first saw an image of this brightly dressed imposter in Macau.

She didn't know what it was, love of Peggy, respect for the dead, admiration for legacy and history, but Sharon needed to get to the bottom of this mystery.

In the midst of aliens, monsters and gods, knowing the identity of this _Cap_ would perhaps make Sharon's world stop tilting off course.

Maybe.

"Agent 13, we are five minutes from our destination. Helicarrier _Alpha_ is in sight."

The words of the pilot jerked Sharon into action as she shoved aside the articles and pads, unbuckled her seatbelt and hurried into the cockpit to get her first view of the devastation. The quinjet glided across New York Bay and Sharon looked to the skyline. The reports cited that all the fires had been put out yesterday citywide, but Sharon could still see smoke billowing in the distance.

"Do a flyby, I want to see." She directed as the pilot nodded and proceeded to swoop down to slide across the various landscapes as Sharon leaned to look through the glass.

Buildings were in tatters, some completely gone, but others only hazardously holding on through their foundations and steel beams. Cars and buses were still overturned and many were smoky infernos of metal and ash. Glass from shattered windows covered the streets mixing in with the ruble of fallen buildings.

Clean up crews and volunteers were hard at work, shoveling and moving debris. Stations manned by the Red Cross and tents with food, water and medical supplies could be made out even from Sharon's high vantage point. She saw the tanks and military convoys of the National Guard and other armed forces called in to clean up the mess left behind.

Sharon looked away and lost her breath at what next caught her eyes. Lying across the remains of three buildings was a giant…Sharon didn't quite know what it was, but it was huge and definitely alien.

"My god." She whispered to herself as the quinjet flew past it. She had seen the footage, it had taken the combined efforts of Thor, the Hulk and Iron Man to take a sucker like that down. The quinjet moved up and did a flyby of Stark Tower, Tony Stark's personal monument to himself.

God, it was an ugly building.

To be fair, Sharon couldn't be sure if the design was inherently ugly or if the fact that it looked like an atomic bomb had gone off within it, leaving it shattered and wilting, instead of tall and imposing as its namesake had undoubtedly intended it to be. Sharon looked at it, the only thing left identifying it as belonging to Tony Stark was its sad little 'A' perched precariously by itself, looking nearly like it might by joining its siblings on the ground below.

Mentally categorizing everything she had seen Sharon leaned back to address the pilots.

"I've seen enough. Take me to _Alpha._ "

Time to get to work.

The pride and joy of SHIELD's helicarrier fleet was floating bruised and battered above New York Bay. Sharon had heard of the damage wrought to the ship by Barton, the Hulk and others. She was surprised it was still standing…or in this case flying. The retrograde shields had been damaged so the helicarrier was out in plain sight, easily detected by anyone with two eyes. Sharon reached up and grasped handlebars as the quinjet gave a rickety landing onto the deck of the helicarrier. The moment the turbine engines powered down and the ramp opened, Sharon was moving through the belly of the ship, scooping up her backpack and stuffing the various newspaper clippings and data pads into it. She slipped in onto her back and departed the quinjet with a wave to her pilots.

Waiting for her was Dwight Rollin Stanford.

Middle aged and showing signs of it with thinning hair on top and a soft belly developing due to more time spent behind a desk than out in the field. Stanford had been Sharon's SO and handler since she graduated from Academy and while he was a cankerous, impatient, hothead asshole, he was Sharon's asshole and she was proud to be his number one agent.

Besides, Stanford truly was a teddy bear behind the assholery. He just didn't like to show it…ever.

Even with his back to her as he muttered darkly into his phone Sharon could tell he was beyond the point of stress. Clutched tightly in his stocky fingers was a cigarette (not the first one if the yellow staining of his nails was to go by). Stanford had a complicated relationship with smoking. He called it his glossy eyed mistress, his wife called it grounds for divorce. So every few months he entered into the act of quitting smoking, which usually lasted all of a few days until he was chugging down cigarettes like shots, his habit would then be exacerbated by the anger of Mrs. Stanford giving him the business on a daily routine.

So, simply put, Stanford smoked a lot. He smoked even more when he was stressed.

Sharon imagined aliens attacking New York was enough to stress him out now.

She moved closer to her handler as he abruptly finished his brusque conversation and snapped his cellphone shut with gruff finality. He turned to her unimpressed with her overall general appearance and presence.

So, no different than usual.

"About fucking time you got your ass here. What, have you been eating fortune cookies and takeout all this time?"

The smoking had only increased the raspy quality of his voice.

He had been going at it awhile.

Sharon rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest.

"Miss you too, Stanford. My mission report." She pulled the file from her backpack and gave it to the long suffering Stanford who looked over it as if it had personally offended him.

"I'm dealing with life ending catastrophes and you think I give a flying fuck about child prostitutes in China? Don't answer that."

He growled before she could open her mouth with a quick witted response. She smiled and mimed the act of zipping her lips shut and throwing away the key. Stanford sighed and looked as if he was contemplating his life choices that had led him to becoming a SHIELD handler. He took a final drag of his cigarette before dropping it and digging his heel viciously into the butt. He nodded his head and took off at a swift pace as Sharon easily kept stride as she followed him into the labyrinth of hallways and staircases that made up the helicarrier.

Even with the aliens dead and the god Loki vanquished it was still a madhouse aboard the helicarrier with SHIELD personnel and agents rushing here and there. Sharon was nearly steamrolled by a contingent of STRIKE Team Delta as she turned a corner.

Assholes.

"So, did I miss anything?" she asked cheekily as she and Stanford climbed a flight of stairs and took a hard right.

"Funny. Come up with that one on the ride over?" He muttered without even looking at her. Sharon pouted when he glanced at her and grinned when Stanford rolled his eyes and hip checked her.

"You saw the reports and news. You know what you missed."

"That's only half the story. Who's Loki and what was his game plan?"

"Classified."

"Where did those aliens come from?"

"Classified."

"Did the World Security Council really try to nuke Manhattan?"

"Classified."

"Where are the Avengers?"

"Oh, let me see. Hmm. Classified."

"Is there anything that's isn't classified?" Sharon snapped, annoyed as Stanford huffed in a laugh and shook his head at her, the closest thing she would get to a fond gesture. He jerked to a stop and brought his hand up to his ear, his eyes looking past Sharon as an unseen voice spoke to him over the comm.

"Well, gee, you don't say," he barked miffed before glaring at Sharon as if she was the one annoying him, "Yes, I've got her. Agent 13 on her way."

He shook his head and nodded to the elevator that would take her to the center of the helicarrier, the Console.

"Boss wants to see you." Was all the information she got before being shoved into said elevator. She shot one final glare at Stanford as the door slid shut. She leaned back against the wall before remarking to the empty chamber,

"Console."

"Access granted." The female computerized voice said in return as the elevator smoothly began ascending. It only took 30 seconds or so and then the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened as Sharon stepped into the heart of the helicarrier.

She strolled past rows of agents busy at their monitors and computers. She gave a nod to Deputy Director Maria Hill as Fury's Number Two briskly shouldered past her, barking orders into her comm.

"Fury's at the controls." Hill supplied helpfully before disappearing into the mass of swarming agents. Sharon nodded and looked forward and took in the commanding sight of Director Nick Fury. Clothed in his usual black leather ensemble he stood with rigid back, straight shoulders and hands clenched at his sides as he overlooked various files coming in at breakneck speeds. His one good eye moving over the information quickly as he swiped left and right at his fancy, enlarging images or making files disappear from the screen.

Urban legends abounded freely about Fury. Junior agents firmly believed he was the stuff of nightmares and at Academy more than one story had been shared that had the recruits seeing Director Fury as the bogeyman.

Sharon may have also believed those stories once had she not known the man since she was a young child and he was apt to show up at Peggy's house with news of SHIELD that more often than not turned into arguments of ideology over dinner. Yep, a bright eyed, young Sharon Carter had shared more than her fair meal with Nick Fury.

The perks of being the great-niece of a SHIELD former director.

Not that many people at SHIELD knew that.

At work, she was just Agent 13.

The less people that knew her last name, the better.

"Agent 13," Fury's greeting broke her from her thoughts as she took his unvoiced invitation to join him at the helm of _Alpha._

"Director," she greeted respectfully as she peered down at the screens and saw them same images she had been pouring over for days.

The Avengers.

"How was Macau? Did you flush that trafficking ring?" Fury asked conversationally, perfectly poised and exceedingly vague and polite.

He knew Sharon hated when he did this to her. The upturn of his smirk was enough to tell her he knew that as well.

"Done and done. Really though that seems small pickings to what has transpired here in the last few days."

"I can't say I know what you mean, 13."

Asshole. Why did she like him again?

"Really? We're playing this game? I would have been here in an instant if someone had kept me in the loop." She accused as Fury continued overlooking the screens.

"You and half of SHIELD. You not being present was not an intended slight. Events transpired quickly and I had to roll with the punches. You would never have gotten here in time to be of use."

"Speaking of use, when will I get to know all the facts? Most of the information I've gotten is redacted or heavily classified. I want to know the juice, Nick."

"All information of the Battle of New York is freely given to any SHIELD agents…who have Level 7 clearance. You're still a 6 aren't you?"

"That was cold."

"Become a Level 7 and you can know anything you want." He looked away before speaking again.

"Besides, getting back to your point of not being called in, there wasn't much you could have done, the real heavy lifting was done by them."

He nodded down to the screen that was highlighting the deeds of the Avengers. Sharon's eyes were immediately to the shield and the man wielding it.

"Yeah, that's another thing. Nick, what is this?" She pointed down to the image. Fury only raised an eyebrow.

"I believe its Captain America. Surely you, more than anyone else, would recognize the man."

Sharon bristled at his effected airy tone and reached down to the screen, blew up the image of the man and tossed it forward as it erupted into a holographic image before her.

"Captain America? Really Nick? What, did Coulson convince you that morale was low and the way to raise it was to put a man in the stars and stripes and have him prance around alongside a monster and a god?"

Fury had given a slight flinch at the mention of Coulson and Sharon filed that away for musings for a later date. He turned fully towards her and regarded her silently for a moment.

"And what exactly do you think I did, Agent 13? Find a man off the street and put him in the costume to garner sympathy points from the general public? Who do you think this man is?"

Sharon turned towards the 3D image of Cap. It had been taken of him giving orders to his fellow Avengers. His face was still hidden by the flimsy blue mask with the 'A' blazed upon it, but one could make out his strong jaw, see the blues of his eyes, and the conviction resides within them. He had broad shoulders snugly outfitted in the skintight suit that border lined on the ridiculous (yet Thor was marching around in a cape, so who was she to judge the fashion statements of superheroes).

All in all, he was a quality Captain America. But he couldn't be the real one. Steve Rogers had died in 1945 and no one had seen him since.

Sharon shrugged giving off the air of nonchalance as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back on her legs to regard Fury.

"A former military man maybe? You went to him, inspired him with tales of Captain America and said he could be the living embodiment of the legend?"

"Intriguing guess, but no. The man you see before you is, as I live and breathe, Captain Steve Rogers."

He said it with such stark truth that a chill swept up Sharon's spine as she blinked wildly for a moment, her eyes darting to the hologram image of the man.

Up close and personal, it did strongly resemble the pictures in her history textbooks.

"Steve Rogers is dead." she murmured trying to hold onto the last strands of reality before she was tipped over the edge. She watch Fury closely as he took a step towards her, his eyes staying on her.

"No, he's not. Steve Rogers is alive."

And over the edge she went.


	3. Welcome Back, Cap

**_May 10_** ** _th_** ** _, 2012_**

 ** _Washington, D.C._**

 _"_ _It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight, rising up to the challenge of our rival."_

A groan echoed throughout the dark bedroom as a blonde head reluctantly emerged from her duvet cocoon and groggily glared at her blaring cell phone.

"Five more minutes," she mumbled to thin air to no avail as the phone continued its tune.

" _And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night, and he's watching us all with the eye of the tiger."_

With none of the grace her years as an agent had awarded her, Sharon swatted at the phone and after several failed swiping attempts finally got the blasted music to turn off. Once she was gratefully immersed in blissful silence, she flopped back down onto her pillow and sighed deeply.

It had been a late night the night before and she felt like she had only laid her head down to rest mere minutes ago. Speaking of time…she pressed her phone and blinked rapidly at the harsh assault of blue light illuminating her face. The time reflected on the phone was enough to have her groaning again and desperately wishing for sleep.

 ** _5:45AM_**

 _To sleep or not to sleep_ , she mused as her eyes darted up to her textured ceiling, she could make out the bumps and grooves even in the dimness of the pre-dawn greyness. She stretched lazily as her surroundings became sharper and her focus more intent until she was rolling herself out of her lovely queen bed and shuffling into the bathroom. She slapped her cheeks lightly to wake herself up as she regarded herself in the mirror. In the harsh fluorescents lights she looked pale and tired as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Her blonde hair was sticking up in every which direction; her worn Georgetown University t-shirt was baggy and loose and had seen many a better day and was two sizes too big, so it nearly hid her boxer shorts from view. Fighting a yawn she dragged her feet towards the kitchen.

She perked up as she stumbled into the gallery kitchen and saw her salvation sitting daintily on the dark, granite countertop.

Her coffee maker.

She had had that bad boy since college and he had yet to let her down (if only she could say that about the men in her life). Within a few minutes she had the machine up and running and as it was bubbling and brewing, she leaned against the countertop in the long, limited space.

The apartment was part of the package deal that was being a SHIELD operative. Though, to be fair, Sharon was willing to admit her was a tad bit more luxurious than the standard SHIELD home package. Sue her, she had wanted to live in a happening neighborhood in one of the busiest cities in the US. Located right at the heart of Penn Quarter off of Pennsylvania Ave, this high rise apartment was Sharon's home when she wasn't being called away to the various ends of the earth to do god knows what in the name of freedom and security.

To her right was one of her favorite spots in DC: the Newseum and across the street was the National Gallery of Arts. When she was in her dining room, if she pressed her face to the window and stretched her neck she was awarded with the sight of the Washington Monument rising above the low level buildings that made up the DC skyline. Penn Ave was always bustling with people moving up and down towards the Mall and the White House. She could be at any Smithsonian in a matter of minutes. Her weekly jogs consisted of choosing whether to run along the Potomac or the Tidal Basin.

Restaurants of every nationality and cuisine style (most importantly burger joints) were at her fingertips and god knows there was always a new cupcake bakery popping up somewhere waiting to be tasted. And brunch, the brunch….

Sometimes, Sharon Carter really loved her life.

Just not before 6am in the morning.

As the coffee machine pinged to alert the fact it was done brewing, she did a happy little shuffle/jig towards the machine, pulling a mug out of the cabinet above her. Once she had the right ratio of coffee and creamer, she inhaled the intoxicating scent and allowed the warmth of the mug to fill her whole body as she finally came to life.

She greedily sipped at her elixir of life until the very last drop. With much needed caffeine in her system she felt prepared to begin getting to work.

She had a mission after all.

Padding back into her bedroom she dressed quickly in nondescript clothing and detoured into the bathroom to tame her bed hair and brush her teeth. Gathering up her keys she was out her door at just past 6am.

She strode to the elevator and let it carry her down to the lobby from the 11th floor of her building. She exited and made a beeline for the front desk where concierge Billy Ray was holding court.

"Morning Ms. Carter," he greeted affably with a beaming smile as she returned it and leaned against the sleek, modern desk.

"Hi Billy Ray, got anything for me?" she inquired as he slid the newest edition of the _Washington Post_ towards her.

"Just the paper. It's a doozy of a headline this morning."

"I'll bet." She muttered having a strong guess of the headline in question but not wanting to look at it just yet. She flashed another smile at the man before slipping away to the front door, keeping the newspaper tucked in the crook of her elbow. As she stepped outside she took in the still quietness of Penn Ave, only an hour or so away from the complete craziness of rush hour traffic. The sky was lined with hues of pink and orange with the growing sunrise off in the distance of the east, still not visible above the Capitol. It was only morning, but there was a heaviness to the air that meant another hot and humid day in DC was imminent. Lovely.

Sharon headed towards her usual parking spot and with a beep of her car remote was slipping into her blue sedan that had been her companion since high school. She had learned to drive in this car, being schooled by her dad who thought being an English professor made him an expert on cars. It was this same car she got her first speeding ticket in, as well as her first fender bender, and the first time she had gone to second base with a boy (junior year of high school with varsity baseball player Elliot Smith).

Point of the story is, she and her car had been through a lot together. However, her little blue pal was starting to show his age with some wear and tear, and his miles just kept ticking upward. She was secretly hoping for an upgrade soon, particularly of the SHIELD kind. But at the moment that was neither here nor there.

It wasn't until she was all buckled in and had the AC going that Sharon dared to fully look at the paper. It had been innocuously resting in the empty passenger seat, folded inward so as to hide the front page headline. For the past few days all the newspapers of the world had been dominated by the events in New York. Images of aliens raining down from that portal in the sky, shots of the Avengers fighting them off, murmurings and musings on who some of them were (Thor, for instance).

And now, they finally had some answers to the identities of these superheroes. Or at least one in general. Sharon picked up at the newspaper and wasn't surprised by what she saw gracing the front page.

 **Steve Rogers Alive after 70 Years in Ice**

Late the night before (just as the 11pm news was about to begin) a statement had been released from Stark Industries confirming that the heroic Captain America of last week's battle and the late, great Captain America of WWII was one and the same. He had survived the crashing of the _Valkyrie_ into the Artic and had been entombed in ice for the past seven decades and had been discovered just before the attack on New York.

It had been a short and simple statement, as if anything about it was simple. Within minutes #CaptainAmerica had been trending on Twitter and the internet had effectively been broken. Everyone had been clamoring for the details of how, when, where and why. The public had only been slightly nullified by the fact that Captain Rogers would be giving his first interview at noon the next day.

Less than six hours away and the whole world would be formally re-introduced to Steve Rogers.

Having heard the news three days ago and having it reaffirmed in the above headline, Sharon still couldn't make heads or tails of the situation. Fury had provided her with the specifics and particulars of how Captain Rogers had rejoined the land of the living (as much information as Fury is ever willing to give without a price).

Apparently the serum running through Rogers' veins had been enough to keep him clinging onto life for the last 70 years.

Suspended in time for 70 years…Sharon wondered if he dreamed at all during that time, or if the last thing he saw was blinding ice and then awoke in an instant in an entirely different world. Had he been knocked out by the crash? Or had he felt the chill of ice creeping into his bones as he waited to die?

Sharon shivered at the thought, the AC suddenly making the inside of her car feel like a freezer. She hastily turned down the dial making the coolness mild rather than full force.

Distractions. She was allowing herself to be distracted by emotions. Doing that in the field could get her killed or worse, compromised.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts and put the car into drive. Pulling out onto Penn she veered the car northwest, turning onto 7th, then D and then finally onto 9th, following it until she was breezing through the mostly empty 9th St Tunnel that took her underneath the Mall. She took the ramp onto 395 S and followed it to the bridges over the Washington Channel and heading towards the 14th St bridges over the gentle Potomac. Cruising along comfortably in the early morning traffic Sharon allowed herself to enjoy sights of the illuminous Jefferson Memorial on the shores of the Tidal Basin. Driving over the Potomac allowed her to see the Triskelion, SHIELD's home base, rising like a beacon far off on Roosevelt Island. Not following the height restriction the Triskelion rose even higher than the Washington Monument. No matter where one was in DC, he could nearly always see the Triskelion and be reminded of the security SHIELD provided to the world.

In the early morning of the dawn the stronghold of the three columnar buildings, joined together by a joint shared floor that housed the World Security Council, the Triskelion appeared tranquil, its floor to ceiling windows gleaming in the sunlight, no one would suspect the mischief and mayhem that was contained by the occupants of that building.

Sharon felt a small thrill run through her body as her car raced over George Mason. SHIELD and all it stood for was intrinsically a part of her and no matter how many times she saw the Triskelion, it always felt like she was seeing it for the first time as she had as a young girl, clinging to Aunt Peggy's hand as she was given the grand tour.

Continuing on, it was only a few minutes and then she was exiting onto George Washington Memorial running alongside the Potomac. The sun was higher in the sky and the day had the makings of being bright, sunny and cheerful. The more north she traveled the closer the Triskelion appeared, until it was a sleeping giant in the distance as she came upon the Memorial Ave roundabout. Taking the second exit she continued west, formally entering Virginia as her destination grew in the distance.

Arlington National Cemetery.

Normally closed at such an early hour, but another perk of being a SHIELD agent meant that one could typically get in wherever she wanted when she wanted, within reason. Using it, however, to sneak in backstage of the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show due to 'pressing and urgent matters' involving a potential bomb threat hidden in the bedazzled, million dollar bra was fiercely looked down upon (thank you for nothing Agent Ward).

Having parked her car and flashed her SHIELD badge to the guards on duty Sharon was on her way into the sprawling final resting place of America's finest. Growing up she had come here every Memorial Day to walk among the tombstones alongside Aunt Peggy and Uncle Daniel. They would pay close attention to the graves of soldiers from WWII, in particular the lost men of the 87th Infantry, Uncle Daniel's comrades in the war.

After so many years of wandering freely through the grassy plains, Sharon knew exactly where she wanted to go. She strode across the dew-kissed grass feeling the bottom of her jeans grow damp. With her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets she followed the familiar winding paths, enjoying the light breeze, the chirping of the birds above her in the trees and the fractures light floating through the branches.

Early as it was (and Sharon hated being up early, cardio be damned) there were worse ways to spend one's morning.

Being shot at for example (she had spent many a morning verifying this fact).

After ten minutes or so of strolling the Crook Walk the trees began to part as she came into a clearing cushioned between McClellan and Memorial that was filled with rows of the ubiquitous white gravestones. She veered off the bath and wandered near the cherry blossom tree in bloom. At the center was something rather stunning.

Rising above the rows of gravestones was an alabaster shrine to America's greater hero. Carved entirely out of the unforgiving hardness of marble was the likeness of Captain America. He stood seven feet tall, proud and as defiant as the American spirit. Both feet were planted firmly in a position of authority leading up to broad shoulders standing at attention that held the neck of a man who had never bowed down to any foe before him, whether they be Nazi soldiers or bullies in Brooklyn alleyways.

Even in the whiteness of the marble the impression of his uniform was as distinct as the star on his chest and the stripes flowing down his abdomen. The 'A' of his helmet protruded forward and the wings flanking the sides jutted out. With his left arm raised in the name of freedom he brandished his mighty shield above his head, ready to fight and defend. In his right hand he gripped strongly a flagpole with a large American flag blowing gently in the early morning breeze.

Embodied in the memorial was patriotism, valor, and heroism.

It was the perfect monument to Captain America.

To Steve Rogers…well, as Aunt Peggy had always said, _'He'd be embarrassed by all this spectacle. He was a man, not a bloody mascot of American ideals.'_

Sharon didn't know how long she stood there as the morning shifted from pre-dawn to just early. In the distance she imagined the hellish morning commute into DC was now going into full force and was bumper-to-bumper. The world was moving forward, but time felt transcended here in this place, in this presence of this memory to a man once believed lost forever. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she moved closer to the memorial and stepped up to the gravesite situated before it.

 **Capt. Steven Grant Rogers**

 **1918 – 1945**

 _'_ _Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.' ~ Thomas Paine_

Steve Rogers had forced the _Valkyrie_ into the ice on March 4th, 1945. He had been just shy of his 27th birthday.

Sharon had turned 25 just this past February and she hadn't done half the things in her life that Rogers had before his death… _disappearance._ And as kickass as an agent she believed herself to be, Sharon didn't think she had it in her to come back from the dead. And in the first month of his resurrection he defeated aliens hell-bent on destroying humanity (sometimes Sharon truly believed the world they lived in was actually a high budget Hollywood action film, because really, aliens destroying humanity? That's just lazy writing).

Anyway, the legend definitely proceeded the man.

She didn't know what had compelled her to come here, to this spot, as she had done dozens of times as a child. But it had been a nagging thought since returning to DC. She just needed this, and perhaps it was best if she didn't think about why.

She regarded the mausoleum again for a moment before sucking in a breath, squaring her shoulders and raising her hand in a perfect military salute. In the quiet of the morning, it felt solemn rather than silly that she was saluting the ghost of a man who was actually living and breathing.

"Welcome back Captain." Her voice was too loud in the peacefulness of the space, but Sharon reckoned in the next coming days and weeks this spot would be anything but peaceful. The public would come for their fill of Captain America.

It wasn't every day an American legend came back from the dead.

She did a turnabout and left the Captain American Memorial behind her, and as she stalked across the grass she nodded respectfully to the gravesite resting parallel to Steve Roger's left side. It was a simply engraved:

 **James Buchanan Barnes**

 **1917-1945**

 _Son, Brother, Friend, Soldier, Commando._

Bucky Barnes had always been her favorite.

As she made her way back onto Crook Path she felt the telltale beep on her personal cellphone in her back pocket. She slipped it out, swiped right and smiled as she saw the text from her oldest friend in the world, Catherine Reyes. The two girls' friendship had started in the summer before third grade when the Reyes family had moved in next door on Floyd Avenue in Richmond, VA. It had taken exactly four hours after the family initially moved in for Sharon and Catherine to declare themselves friends for life and seventeen years later that declaration was still going strong through thick thin and fights over who was the better boyband: Backstreet Boys or NSYNC? Nowadays Catherine, and her college boyfriend Jessie Stromberg, were making their mark in New York City, and consequently had had front row seats to the Chitauri invasion. Luckily, the two hadn't been hurt in the attack. In fact, Jessie's Instagram photo of Thor wielding his magical hammer had received 10K likes. Impressive.

Throughout their friendship people had been quick to declare that Catherine was the Bucky Barnes to Sharon's Steve Rogers.

It was only in this setting that Sharon could truly appreciate the irony of that.

In true Catherine fashion, she always seemed to know when Sharon needed her, even when Sharon didn't know how to ask.

 **To Sharon:**

 _Shar, I just saw the news. Is it true…is he really alive?_

Sharon paused and wondered how to respond. Obviously the news of Rogers' second chance at life was making the early morning news circuits. By the time the interview aired in a few hours Sharon wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't a single person in the world who didn't know Steve Rogers' name.

There was too much history and legacy wrapped up in his name and title for him to ever not matter to the world.

Sharon fired back a response and a moment later her phone buzzed one right after the other as Catherine's stream of consciousness took textual form.

 **To Sharon:**

 _How's Peggy taking the news?_

How, indeed.

Sharon sighed and ran a hand through her short bob, gripping the ends of her hair and giving a slight pull as she to the parking lot and slipped back into her car.

She hadn't been to see Aunt Peggy yet, even though she had been in DC since arriving four days before after her chat with Fury aboard the _Alpha._ She wasn't usually one for cowardice, but truth be told, Sharon knew had she visited Peggy she wouldn't have been able to look into her eyes and not reveal the return of Peggy's long lost war love.

And that would have been…messy. And Sharon didn't like messy.

So she kept her distance, which hurt like the lingering pain of a bruise. But now Peggy would know the truth and Sharon…Sharon would handle the fallout.

She prayed to a god she rarely prayed to that today, of all days, would be one of Peggy's good days.

Putting the car into drive she took off towards Arlington to visit Peggy at her care center. The ride was only 20 minutes or so but felt like a lifetime as she pulled into the parking lot of the care center. It was situated among rows of trees, its redbrick façade, Palladian windows and arched doorway screaming inviting and cheerful.

She greeted the desk receptionist with friendly smiles and inquiries into their families. So maybe she was taking a few extra minutes to get to Peggy's room, sue her, she was only human. Finally though she came upon the open doorway and could hear the rustling of Peggy in her bed. While early in the morning, just going on 7:40am, Peggy was always at her most active in the morning. By noon she'd be sluggish and ready for an afternoon catnap and by the afternoon she was just content to reside in her bed, sometimes going in and out of memories.

 _Pull yourself together Carter._ With a quick shake and a head nod, Sharon plastered a smile onto her face and lightly knocked on the door before popping her head into the light and airy room. It was an east facing room and sunlight was streaming in through the windows as Peggy's room overlooked a courtyard that housed an intricate fountain, the trickling of water heard through the open window.

Peggy was propped up in her bed, a James Patterson thrill in her lap (Peggy loved figuring out the twist ending before said ending), a quilt Peggy's daughter, Jill, had knitted a few years back, resting at the food of Peggy's. Littered throughout the room where reminders of Peggy's life: a snapshot from Peggy and Daniel's wedding, a picture taken of Peggy, Howard Stark and General Chester Phillips at their first offices of SHIELD, pictures of Jill, Sharon's father and aunt as they grew up, and pictures of Peggy's three grandchildren. To Peggy's right, hanging merrily on the wall was a drawing of an apple tree that Peggy's granddaughter, a precocious eight year old named Mona, had proudly given to her grandma at her last visit. On her bedside table as an assortment of the various medications Peggy needed to take on a daily basis to be 'comfortable' as Peggy's doctor had stated last time Sharon had seen him.

Even now in her nineties Peggy was still a beauty to behold. Her hair, now entirely silvered grey, was still strong and thick and it fell down her shoulders in gentle waves. Her features, worn and aged by time, stress, and the perils of espionage, motherhood and bureacracy all wrapped together to make up a messy, complicated, but overall joyful and fulfilling life.

"Dearest!" Peggy exclaimed as she took in the sight of her niece. So far, so good.

"Hi Aunt Peggy," Sharon ventured further into the room, plopping into her favorite overstuffed chair that rested to Peggy's left.

"I see you're finally back from your sojourn in Macau. Have fun with those trafficking rings? It seems that there always popping up. How many did you take out? Three? Four?"

"That's classified." Sharon teased and as expected Peggy's face scrunched up in indignation.

"Oh, what pitter-posh. I was busting skulls together when you were only a twinkle in your father's eyes, little one."

Sharon's smile only grew as she slinked down in her chair, making herself comfortable. She loved days like this, when she and Peggy could go toe-to-toe back and forth, with Peggy being sharp as a fiddle.

These were the best days.

Unfortunately, as time continued on, they would become rarer and rarer.

But they weren't there yet, so Sharon wouldn't dwell on it. Not when other news was to be had. The lighthearted atmosphere lessened when Sharon caught sight of the newspaper resting lightly to Peggy's left on the bed. It was the same edition of the _Washington Post_ that Sharon had read that morning.

Steve Roger's solemn face was staring blankly up into the air.

Peggy followed Sharon's gaze and sighed, her index finger reaching out to gently trace Roger's facial features.

"I imagine this is not an absurdly late April Fool's prank?" Peggy asked, already resigned to the truth as Sharon shook her head.

"He was discovered by SHIELD back in April and they were able to thaw him out, within a day he was awake and within weeks was back at it with the shield as you saw on the footage of what happened in New York."

"Is that all Fury told you?" Even in her shock, Peggy still had a way of getting to the heart of the matter.

"For the most part. I'm not at the proper clearance level to know much more." Sharon shrugged and fiddled with her turquoise ring.

"And you haven't thought to hack your way in and take what's ever up for grabs?" Peggy's voice was light, but somehow Sharon knew there was a test in that question. She looked at her great-aunt for a moment before leaning casually back into her chair.

"That's more Romanoff's game than mine. Besides, good things come to those who wait."

Whatever Peggy had been angling for most have been pleased by Sharon's response because Director Carter was replaced by Aunt Peggy. She was silent for a few moments, her brown eyes resting on the image of Steve Rogers.

"It seems a dream," she finally said softly, her eye darting towards Sharon as she smiled mirthlessly, "I think I've been waiting all my life for this moment, and here it is and I don't…."

"Don't know how to feel?" Sharon helpfully supplied as Peggy nodded and looked away, rapidly blinking her eyes and reaching up to surreptitiously wipe at one as Sharon respectfully gave her a few moments of privacy by turning her gaze to the window.

"I can't even imagine what's he thinking," Peggy continued after several long moments as Sharon turned back to her, "To be ready to die in one moment, only to wake up in a new year and time, then to battle aliens like it's a nickelodeon. I hope…I hope he's had a moment to breathe, collect his thoughts."

"If he hasn't, then he's definitely earned himself a vacation."

"Hmm. A holiday, yes. He always used to tell me that it was a goal of him and Barnes to travel to the Grand Canyon. Perhaps-" Peggy gave a halting breath as she tried to smile at Sharon. Sharon leaned closer to the bed, placing her hands on the comforter. Peggy shook her head, wanting, no needing to continue.

"Perhaps…I just can't help thinking that we should have done more. I saw the coordinates of where they located the _Valkyrie,_ Howard had searched that area once. How could we have missed it, Dearest? Why didn't we… _I_ should have done more."

Tears were now falling down Peggy's aged cheeks as Sharon leaned forward and scooped up Peggy's hand, enclosing a hand that had fired guns as easily as she changed diapers within both of Sharon's as she leaned down and pressed a kiss to Peggy's veined skin.

"No, no, no, none of that Aunt Peggy. You think Steve Rogers would let you say these things about yourself, huh? It wasn't your fault, nor was it Howard Stark's, or anyone's. You didn't know," Sharon stated simply, imploring her aunt with her eyes.

"You didn't know, so you made the most of a crappy situation, and you moved on. But you didn't leave him behind Aunt Peggy. Look at what you did, at what you built. You created SHIELD and look at all you've done. He'd never begrudge you that." She squeezed Peggy's hand for affirmation as Peggy sent a watery grin her way.

"As always, my dear Sharon, you know what to say. Thank you, Dearest."

They kept their hands enjoined as Sharon fed all the limited information she knew of the Chitauri attack to Peggy who nodded and hummed at all the right times. The morning moved on and the two discussed matters as far ranging as politics to reality television and seemingly in a moment Peggy's nurse came in with lunch.

Sharon kept her aunt company as she ate and afterwards Peggy fought her usual routine of naptime in order to catch Roger's interviews, but it was a battle she was losing. Her eyes were drooping and she had been gradually slinking down into her pillows and right before noon she had slipped into her dreams. Sharon regarded her fondly for a moment before leaning over her aunt, and tugging the comforter up higher so that Peggy wouldn't catch a cold draft.

Sharon settle back into her chair and checked her phone, two minutes until show time. Her head swiveled to the small, flat screen TV in the corner of the room, currently a black mirror. Sharon chewed her lip thoughtfully and lasted thirty seconds before curiosity won out and she was grabbing for the remote and turning the TV on. She kept the volume low and flipped to the channel just in time for the craziness to begin.

She settled in for the long haul and picked up the applesauce her aunt customarily avoided like the plague and popped the top off and began digging into it with Peggy's discarded spoon. The TV flashed as the main news anchor began by reiterating the statement from Stark Industries on the return of Captain Rogers from the dead. The man segued into the famed heroics of Rogers' time during WWII as a few black and white photos appeared on the screen marking some of his most famous missions. Sharon took note of both Peggy and the Commandos popping up in a few.

A few more minutes of exposition followed before the shot changed to a woman in a professional, high-end grey dress seated in a plush scarlet chair addressed the audience with a camera ready smile.

 _"_ _Thank you for the introduction Mitch. And now for a man who needs no introduction, especially since the events of the attack in New York last week, I am honored to be sitting here with Captain America himself, the embodiment of America values, Steve Rogers."_

The camera panned to the right and seated rigidly was an uneasy Steve Rogers. Sharon's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of the man who had once been the bulk of her bedtime stories. Her forgotten spoon slipped from her grasp and plopped nosily into her empty applesauce container. Distractedly Sharon set the two down on the rolling tray and leaned forward to better pay attention to the interview at hand.

Most of the pictures and film rolls involving Steve Rogers had been in black and white, so seeing his golden blonde hair and bluer than blue eyes came as a bit of surprise, the camera seemed to think so too as it zoomed in on the Captain's face. He looked as if he had just stepped out of the 1940's with his dark, high-waist trousers and a tucked in plaid button up. Even his hair maintained the combed over look that had graced many posters and history text books.

In fact, that wasn't the only thing straight out of the text books, so was the small and self-effacing smile that graced Rogers' handsome façade. Sharon knew that smile because Dum Dum had always loved teasing Rogers over it whenever he uncomfortably flashed it.

It was Captain America's USO smile.

And it appeared he was once again on stage, but now his audience was the whole world.

 _"_ _So, Captain, let me just begin by thanking you for your service, both in the war and in the recent events in New York. Your valor proceeds you."_ The interviewer gave a gummy smile as she leaned charmingly into Rogers' space and the Captain gulped and nodded.

 _"_ _Well, I didn't do anything that no other man wouldn't have done. In both instances, I just wanted to do what the right thing. And with New York, it's my…my home, it was personal."_

The woman laughed gaily and Rogers blinked, taken aback by the bark-like laughter.

 _"_ _You're too modest, Captain. To begin, how are you ever sitting here? How did you survive nearly 70 years in ice?"_

Rogers nodded and sheepishly shrugged and to someone without a trained eye, everything from his posture to his wording would come across as natural if not slightly rattled and shaken, but Sharon was in the spy business, she knew when people were putting up fronts. And the wall around Rogers? It could put the Wall of China to shame.

 _"_ _I'm no scientist, you'd have to ask them to really understand all the nuances. All I can really say is that the serum that Dr. Erskine created did something that…kept me alive. And then I was found, and the rest is history, I guess as the expression goes."_

 _"_ _That and the will to live, I imagine,"_ the reporter chimed in and it took Rogers a moment before wearily nodding in acquiescent.

 _"_ _And what has your impression been of the 21_ _st_ _century so far? It must feel pretty exotic to you."_

 _"_ _It's louder,"_ Rogers supplied to more sharp laughter from the reporter, when she was done he continued, _"I'm afraid to say that with the Chitauri invasion and the subsequent clean up, I haven't had much of a chance to see the world yet."_

 _"_ _And what would you want to see? What will you do now in the new world you're living in? What's next for Captain America?"_

The reporter leaned forward, intrigued to hear the answer and it was almost as if Rogers knew it wasn't just her hanging off his every word and eagerly awaiting his response, it was the entire world. Rogers's eyes, which had been polite and vigilant now turned blank and his face went expressionless, as if he felt the world bearing down on his absurdly broad shoulders.

 _"_ _I don't know yet. I guess I will just have to wait and see."_

 _"_ _Us as well Captain, us as well. Now, moving onto more exciting things, please tell me about the Avengers…."_

The interview continued on covering all the bases of the events in New York and the new superhero team that had formed in its wake but Sharon couldn't find it in herself to pay attention.

When she was younger she had had a severe soft spot for strays. Puppies, kittens, bird, bunnies, and squirrels had all ended up in her care against her parents' adamant wishes. She couldn't help it though, those animals had been in desperate need of help and tender care and had turned their large, glossy eyes onto her and she had been unable to turn away and leave them to their own devices.

That same innocence, framed by loneliness and a yearning for someone to understand had, just for a moment, been seen in Rogers' baby blue eyes before vanishing into the mask that was Captain America.

Sharon was apprehensively aware that she might have just imprinted on Steve Rogers.

Which, meant, in essence, that Sharon was royally screwed.

Long after the interview was over and the TV was dominated by daytime soaps, Sharon was still sitting in her chair, lost in her thoughts. Finally, after a long moment she shook her head and righted herself.

She was being ridiculous. Absolutely mental. Imprinting on a national icon? Jokes. It was just childhood admiration mixed in with the shock of seeing her childhood hero in real life.

It was a phase. It would pass.

Anyway, what were the odds that she's ever even meet Rogers?

Pretty slim.


	4. Wars May Be Fought with Weapons

_**May 12** **th** **, 2012**_

 _ **The Triskelion, Atrium**_

"Phil Coulson was more than just an agent or handler, hell, he was even more than my one good eye," Nick Fury commended on from atop his podium. He was standing before the imposing titanium eagle at the heart of the atrium. It was typically believed that the eagle, that had once been the symbol of the SSR and then SHIELD's calling card was due to freedom and good old American patriotism, but really it took its meaning from the Native Americans who had viewed the eagle as a way of looking at things in a new light. It was what all former SSR and present SHIELD agents were called to do. The world was an increasingly weird place to live, and a new way of viewing things was the only way to survive. Now more than ever. Just ask the aliens.

Beams of shattered sunlight filtered in from above the window pane rafters. It was an unusually sunny day for this time of the year.

Fury was speaking to a packed house. Every available agent, analyst, supervisor, handler, asset, STRIKE team member and even Secretary Pierce of the World Security Council was present to pay their final respects to a man everyone had admired (secretly or not).

Phil Coulson.

He hadn't been Sharon's S.O. but she had had her dealings with him (being friends with Romanoff had ensured that).

Coulson had easily been the most competent and efficient SHIELD agent Sharon had ever met (and that was saying something when you looked at her family background), and yet he had also easily been the most compassionate as well.

He got the job done, but he always put people first.

"Phil Coulson understood SHIELD more than anyone I have ever met, and every day in and out, his work embodied the ideals of the institution and all that we stand for." Fury continued, standing tall and proud like a bacon guiding his wayward agents home as everyone listened attentively.

Sharon shifted in her seat, reaching up to tug her dress down where it had ridden up when she had crossed her legs (she was a lady after all). When her movement resulted in a snicker to her left she quickly and surreptitiously elbowed the mark in the gut.

"Oomph," Antoine 'Trip' Triplett exclaimed as he eyed his cousin warily, his frown grew even more intense as he took in her sly little smirk. The vixen.

"Girl, that was uncalled for." He hissed at her, behaving more like a six year old than the 27 year old man and secret agent that he was. Family did that to each other.

Never one to be outdone (and particularly by a Carter) he pinched her side and watched with satisfaction as Sharon narrowly avoided jumping out of her chair like a panicky alley cat. From Sharon's right Bobbi Morse could be heard trying to suffocate her snort into a cough. If the shaking of her shoulders were anything to go by, it did not appear to be working.

Throwing a quick glance to the front to ensure Fury's attention wasn't on her (the man saw everything, Jesus Christ) Sharon turned fully to Trip ready to unleash her legendary Chinese burn on the man when a sharp voice quietly interrupted the escalating war.

"Children." Melinda May spoke evenly and quietly which was even scarier than her yelling. She had been sitting in front of the pair and had turned her head to allow them to fully see her unimpressed face. Even just looking into her dark eyes for a moment was enough to chill both agents. In fact, torture interrogation right about now sounded warmer and friendlier than May's hard stare.

"Sorry Ma'am." Both agents whispered as they turned their attention back to the front as Fury finished up his eulogy.

"I know in this lifetime I will never meet a finer man than Coulson, nor a finer SHIELD agent. However, that is a task I leave to you, the best of all of us. May you go forth every day and be even a fraction of the agent Coulson was. Even then, we will succeed in making this world a safer place for all of us."

Fury stepped back as every head turned towards the Wall of Valor, gleaming in the afternoon sun. A small curtain over the bottom right side of the wall was dropped and revealed the newest name to its roster.

 **Phillip Coulson**

Sharon stood to attention with the rest of the atrium as a military salute was given. And then it was over.

Back to business as usual. Just another day at SHIELD.

Sharon was making her way through the sea of somberly dressed personnel when Trip's hand reached out to wrap around her wrist.

"I've got to go check in with Garrett, we still on for lunch this week?" Even with her heels on Trip was still several inches taller than her. His normally beaming face was stoic for the occasion but Sharon saw a hint of a smile peeking out from his pearly whites. Out of all her cousins from the Commando side of the family (and boy were there a lot of them) her favorite had always been Trip.

They had always clicked, now even more so with the two belonging to SHIELD. Not that Commando legacies hadn't found their way into the spy and intelligence business. There were legacies all over the place, really, from CIA, FBI, Homeland Security, DOD, MI6, Secret Service, NASA, Army Rangers, Marines, Seals, the UN and the DGSE.

What? When your grandfather fought alongside Captain America you had to do your best to keep up.

Speaking of the Captain he had been absent from the memorial service.

A shame, really, because Coulson had always been his number one fan. He had had cards and everything.

Sharon shook her head from the distracting thoughts (they were occurring more frequently than she liked) and smiled up at her cousin.

"Of course, I'm picking you're paying. Just like always. I still can't believe you're on Garrett's service now. The man is a hard-ass, and last I heard he wasn't quite right in the head."

Sharon did the universal symbol for 'batshit crazy' as Trip raised an eyebrow unimpressed.

"That's my S.O. you're talking about." Try as he might though he couldn't stop his mouth from quirking up in amusement as he joked with his cousin. It was another thing Sharon loved about Trip: the man was absolute sunshine personified. When working in this field, sunshine was needed.

"Hey, I'm just trying to prepare you for when he comes at you with a machete. He'll do it. Just ask Ward. I hear he's still scared of the Amazon for that reason."

"Hardy har-har. You're hysterical, you know that? You should do standup."

"Well if I did that who would continue to beat you on the shooting range? Can't have you getting cocky."

Trip clutched his chest and staggered back a step as if having a heart attack.

"Ooh, Girl, you wound me! The betrayal, it's just too much to live with." He continued teetering backwards until unfortunately he bumped hard into the last person you wanted to do that to: Victoria Hand.

Sharon had to stifle her giggles into her hands as the woman turned her infamous 'ice queen' stare onto her cousin. Sharon ducked behind his large body to hide from the brunt of the coldness as Trip stammered out an apology to the agent. When she had fully reduced him to a blabbering fool she finally took her leave of the two with her eyes cast downward and her nose upturned, almost as if she had smelled something unpleasant.

"Agent Thirteen, Agent Triplett," she bitingly departed as the two stood frozen in her wake.

Sharon was still tittering when Trip turned back to her, hands on his hips and eyebrows furrowed.

"Wow, Trip, you're quite the menace. Perhaps you and Garrett are meant for each other."

"Quiet you," he poked her in her side again (damn him, he knew all her weak spots) as she squeaked and glared.

"Triplett!" Garrett's booming voiced reached them easily from across the atrium, standing at his side was his favorite protégé Grant Ward. Trip gave him the 'one minute' signal before turning back to Sharon.

"Well, I'm off to do secret spy stuff. You stay out of trouble now." He furtively glanced around, seeing that no one was paying attention to the pair, before leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek.

"See you later Share-Bear." He then, because he was an absolute child, blew a raspberry and guffawed loudly as Sharon wiggled out of his grasp and shoved him towards Garrett.

"Get out of here," she yelled at him, fighting to keep her own grin off her face as he saluted her and headed over to the surly pair of agents. Her smile stayed until her brown eyes fell upon the Wall of Valor only a few feet away from her. She walked towards it, her heels quietly clicking on the tile.

Carved out of the whitest marble, the Wall of Valor was the highest regard SHIELD could provide to its fallen agents. There were more than a 100 names upon the wall and Sharon turned her attention to its newest addition.

The inscription still felt warm to the touch as she traced her fingers carefully over every letter. She had done this to every other agent upon the wall once upon a time; it was her own way of saying thank you.

Besides the addition of Coulson's name there was something else different about the wall. A name that had been upon it since its inception in the 1950's was now missing. Sharon's fingertips moved to the empty space that had once housed Steve Rogers' name.

He and Bucky Barnes had been the first names added to the wall on Peggy's orders. Now Bucky was all alone, the name to his right erased from the marble as if it had never been there at all.

Sharon stood there for a few moments longer before a flash of red hair caught her eye.

Natasha.

Moving as quickly as she could in four inch heels, Sharon maneuvered her way through the trickle of agents still standing in the atrium and with a few carefully placed elbow jabs and 'excuse me' she came upon her friend.

Natasha was standing to the side quietly speaking with Maria Hill and with how blasé the pair looked they could be speaking of something as innocuous as the weather. It had been three months since she had last seen Natasha in person, various missions and the events in New York had been enough to keep the two out of reach.

At first glance Natasha appeared as cool and calm as always. Her curled bob was a vibrant shade of red, her lipstick just as unmistakable and eye catching. Her black dress was tight and well fitted to her petite body that showed off her toned muscles that could easily kill a man if she felt like it.

Nothing was out of place.

If one encountered her in the street in this moment he would never think she had just attended the memorial service of the man who had never once doubted or given up on her.

Sharon was still locked out from reading the classified documents over the helicarrier attack but she knew enough.

She knew that Natasha had encountered both Barton and the Hulk.

To have done that and still be standing…that was something else entirely.

"Nat," Sharon breathed out as the redhead turned towards her. Her face was imperceptible for a mere moment, something flashed in her green eyes, and then it was gone. Natasha took a relaxed stance as she nodded to Hill in farewell. Her eyes lit up in amusement and the corner of her mouth twisted up as she took in the sight of her friend.

"Well, if it isn't the dumb blonde." Her raspy voice gave nothing away as Sharon internally raised an eyebrow. Usually, Nat would have to be fine if they were falling into habit so quickly, but after the hellish last few weeks she had been through Sharon wasn't buying it. The problem would be getting Nat to ever confess to anything. She wasn't one of SHIELD's best because she was pretty. So Sharon played along as they danced the dance they had been doing for years.

"What's up, you soulless ginger?"

"Not much, just enjoying the day." This was said with a sardonic smile as Sharon silently kicked herself. _Great question Sharon, with this display you might as well ship yourself back to the Academy._ _Rookie._

As Sharon looked for even footing, Nat must have decided to put her out of her misery by lightly suggesting, "I'm hungry, want to blow this popsicle stand?"

Sharon nodded with a genuine smile, "I know the perfect place."

Natasha theatrically sighed as the two fell into step together, heading towards the parking garage.

"Still on a quest for the World's Greatest Burger?"

"Always. It's a never-ending mission Nat, it could take me my whole lifetime."

"Lucky me."

The two took the elevator down to the parking garage and Natasha strode right past Sharon's sedan leaving the other agent no choice but to follow her as they came upon Natasha's pride and glory, her SHIELD issued Corvette Stingray.

Sometimes Sharon hated being a Level 6 agent.

"You going to stop drooling anytime this century and get in the car?" Nat called out from the front seat as Sharon shook herself from her car envy and climbed into the passenger. With a roar of the engine the sleek automobile came to life and Natasha wasted no time in leaving the Triskelion behind.

Clutching her leather seat tightly Sharon could only squeak out directions to the Fainting Goat as Nat took sharp turns, royally bypassed the speed limit and even pulled a very smooth, very illegal U-turn.

Sharon's life flashed before her eyes and she bid goodbye to the imaginary three kids she always saw herself having, as by some miracle, they upon the restaurant still intact.

At least mostly.

Sharon was pretty sure her soul had fled from her body somewhere on 15th Street.

After pulling off an immaculate parallel parking maneuver the two spies found themselves seated cozily in the dark interior of the Goat; their table up against a brick column, given the two at least an air of privacy.

Sharon fought for several long minutes to convince Natasha to try the house burger but in the end Nat ordered the Brick Chicken just to spite her. After their menus were cleared and their waiter, easily besotted by Nat, finally left the two in peace, an easy and friendly silence fell upon the pair.

The silence lasted all of a minute before Natasha broke it.

"So," she began, looking up and blowing her straw cover at Sharon, hitting her right between her eyes, "When are you going to ask?"

"Ask what?" Sharon naively batted her eyes remembering Aunt Peggy's word, _always go for innocence, it makes them think you're a lamb rather than a lion. Only when you have fooled them, then you pounce like the lioness you are._

The Red Room must have been lacking in tact as Nat saw right through her and aimed a kick at her ankles, chuckling as Sharon yelped.

"I can see all the questions in your pretty brown eyes, so just ask."

"You think I'm pretty?"

This time Sharon was able to dodge Natasha's foot.

"Thirteen."

"Widow."

"Sharon."

"Natasha."

"Barbie."

"Short stuff."

Truly the name calling could have gone on forever, that's just the kind of friendship the pair had. Silence reigned for a moment as the two sized each other up, but after a moment snorts of laughter and toothy grins took up their space as the two relaxed into their chairs.

It was at the moment that their food arrived and Sharon eagerly bit into her burger, chewing obnoxiously so Natasha could fully understand the grievous mistake she had made in ordering chicken. Honestly, it's like she just did these things to hurt Sharon on the inside.

"My chicken's delicious," Natasha remarked as she daintily cut and chewed her monstrosity. It's like she knew what Sharon had been thinking. The blonde wouldn't put it past the former Russian spy.

"It looks dry to me," Sharon quipped as juice from her own burger ran down her chin. She reluctantly lowered the masterpiece to wipe her mouth; she did have manners after all. Her straight posture in the chair was enough to show that.

Nat rolled her eyes at her friend and continued eating her chicken. It wasn't until the plates were empty and picked up from the table and another round of wine heading their way that Nat brought up their previous subject.

"You can ask you know, I can't promise I'll answer anything, but I won't stop you from asking."

Sharon blinked as she sipped at her wine, red and staining her lips, before lowering the glass and taking in the sight of her friend.

Natasha had been 'on' throughout their whole lunch and even with her invitation, it seemed unlikely that she would crack at all under Sharon's questioning.

Better to step carefully.

So many things to ask, so many things she was dying to know. The question was, where to begin?

"How's Barton?" she asked gently and internally grinned at the sight of a taken off guard Natasha. It was nice when Sharon could surprise her.

Natasha blinked before her face retained its neutral façade. She shrugged and looked over Sharon's shoulder.

"He was fine last time I saw him." She reached up and fiddled with the diamond necklace she only ever wore in civilian clothing. Even in this light Sharon could make out the design of the arrow as Natasha ran her fingers over it soothingly.

Whatever Nat and Barton had was…hard to make any sense of really. Everyone knew their story: he had been ordered to take her out but had made a different call and had brought her into the fold at SHIELD. Her first few months at the agency and he had been the only person she willingly spoke to.

She trained with him, they went on missions together, and they even commanded STRIKE Team Delta together.

In essence, they were the Dream Team.

And what they did in their personal lives…well, it was SHIELD's worst kept secret that they were together in some capacity. However they defined that that was between them. But too many times had their vacation days lined up in sync for it to be mere coincidence. Their fierce protectiveness of each other was legendary within SHIELD as well. And god help people like Loki who tried to use one against the other.

Something was going on there.

In all the years Sharon had called Natasha a friend, the redhead had never fessed up to the depth of her feelings for the archer. But she had seen the two together, she'd have to be blind not to notice the unspoken connection between the two.

Whatever they had went far past romance, the two would die for one another.

So Sharon didn't quite know what they were, but she teased and Nat only ever smirked and made a lewd comment in return.

Now, Nat was still her collected self, but her eyes were distant as she regarded Sharon.

"He taking some time off?"

He hadn't been present at the memorial service and he had been working under Coulson for more than fifteen years. However, with the wild ride his mind had been on Sharon couldn't blame the guy for staying away.

How do you look your colleagues in the eyes when you were responsible for killing their peers and friends?

Natasha nodded nonchalantly as she took a sip from her wine glass.

"He's not up for playing soldier right now. He's off clearing his head."

"And you're not joining him?"

Natasha flashed her a satirical smile that was sharp around the edges.

"He's a big boy, he can take care of himself."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?" Natasha was quick to quip back, her smile teetering onto sharp rather than playful. Warning bells beeped in the back of Sharon's head, but she was undeterred. She would just have to take a different path, is all.

"I heard about the Hulk." She said softly, not to comfort Natasha because if anyone was a lion between the two it was Natasha, but because she genuinely meant it. She wouldn't want to go against the green giant. Banner may be a genius, and from all she heard, a soft spoken man in the flesh, but when he went green, all bets were off.

"You've seem to have heard a lot for only being a Level 6. You finally meddling like I've always wanted you to?"

"A girl hears things," Sharon countered, not to lose focus. It was one of Natasha's talents to speak in circles to either get her mark distracted enough to spill a detail that the redhead needed.

"So you went up against him, huh?" she asked and was only rewarded with an effaced shrug.

"I hear he's quite the opponent."

"He's something else, that's for sure." Natasha intoned drolly as she swished her wine glass and watched the ripples she created.

"Were you ever scared?" Sharon asked not really expecting an honest answer, but sometimes Natasha had to be hit with the brunt of a friend's concern to truly understand that the friend cared at all. She and Sharon had been having this conversation for years to varying degrees of success.

"Hardly. The guy's a teddy bear on the inside, you just have to get past the indomitable rage."

In that moment Sharon knew that all she'd be getting out of Natasha. No matter how hard she'd pushed, Natasha would just remain as unmoving as steel in return. It didn't matter that Sharon was only coming from a place of concern, if Natasha didn't want it then there was no way to give it to her.

Sharon understood and backed off even if it made her feel a bit like a shitty friend to do so.

Nat would share in her own time.

Sharon flicked her napkin at the spy as a truce and the warm smile she was greeted with in return was enough to tell her that her pushing hadn't been taken as offense. As the two relaxed around each other Natasha spoke again,

"You know, of all the ways I saw this conversation you have yet to ask the question I thought you'd ask first."

Sharon quirked an eyebrow, genuinely confused.

"And that would be?"

"Rogers."

Sharon's carefree demeanor shifted to rapt attention as her brown eyes flicked up to Natasha, who looked like a cat who had caught the canary as she took in Sharon's subtle change.

"I haven't forgotten about your… _connection_ to the good Captain." Natasha continued as she regarded her painted nails.

"I thought you'd be curious about him."

Oh how the tables turn. Sharon supposed she deserved this.

Sharon shrugged and tugged an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. She had been dying her hair platinum for the past year and she was now ready for it to return to its natural honey color. Hell, she might even grow it out. There was nothing more infuriating than having hair too short to put into a ponytail.

"He's just a man," Sharon casually replied after a moment.

"Is he really? Wasn't he your hero growing up? Was your love just as pure and true as Coulson's?"

"Well, no one could compete with Coulson. And no…I didn't grow up admiring Captain America. I admired Steve Rogers."

"Is there a difference?" Natasha categorically asked.

"There used to be, I guess you'd be a better judge of that than me." She looked to Natasha who shrugged.

"C'mon Nat, what's he like?" As always, Sharon's curiosity couldn't be quenched. She had been a history major for a reason. She always wanted to know things. A good and bad thing given their field of espionage.

"He's stoic, a man of little words, a bit too straight laced for me, and he didn't like Stark."

"Does anyone like Stark?" she had read the tabloids; Tony Stark was a walking human disaster. She didn't know how Pepper Potts put up with that hurricane of self-destruction. And boy, had Natasha had stories when she had come back from her stint as Stark's PA earlier in the year.

"He's not too bad, at least when he isn't dying of pallidum poisoning and generally being an ass-hat."

"Back to Rogers,"

"I don't know what stories you were fed as a wee little one, but I don't know if you'd recognize that man if you met him in person."

Sharon sat back in her chair and nodded. It made sense. The man had gone down in the ice and had woken up in a brave new world. How could he ever be the same?

"He's been quiet since his interview two days ago, has he gone to ground?" Sharon asked as Natasha nodded.

"Fury has him set up at the Retreat to give him a few weeks to clear his head, figure out what he wants to do next."

"What does Fury want him to do?"

Natasha's smile was near feral as she grinned up at Sharon, "I love how quick your mind is."

"What does Fury want Nat?"

"What do you think? He wants him to be in SHIELD."

Sharon blinked. In all the times she had thought about Steve Roger's future ever since she knew he was alive she hadn't thought of that.

Rejoin the army? Plausible. Retire to a tropical island? Nice, but unlikely. Permanently camp himself at Aunt Peggy's bedside? Pathetic, but a real possibility.

But SHIELD, she hadn't considered SHIELD.

Now that Natasha had put it out there Sharon felt stupid. Of course SHIELD, the man was a super-soldier and super-soldiers didn't just retire to bumfuck nowhere.

Besides, Peggy had founded SHIELD. Sharon suspected that fact alone would be enough to get Steve Rogers to stay.

Peggy had always said Rogers had been a bit of a romantic. More of a bleeding heart it seemed like.

"You think he will?"

"I don't think he has much else going for him." Nat, as usual, was blunt in her honesty.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, an agent of SHIELD.

God help all of them.

Sharon's life seemed destined to become even more interesting.


	5. A Day in the Life Pt1

Chapter Four

 _ **May 15**_ _ **th**_ _ **, 2012**_

 _ **Washington, D.C.**_

If Sharon were president the one thing she would ban would be running as an acceptable form of cardio. Yes, she understood it was healthy, but at what cost?

She was stumbling into her apartment after a grueling seven mile run in the D.C. heat. Summer was well and truly here. No chance of White Walkers in the Sixth Circle of hell that was Washington, D.C. in late spring.

A lifetime of having lived in the region still couldn't prepare Sharon for the intensity of the humidity that the weather could bring about.

Throwing her shoes histrionically across the room so they landed in a pathetic pile near the couch, she noisily stomped into the kitchen. Two glasses of ice cold water later, excessive fanning, and batting away at sweaty and obstructive bangs, Sharon was finally feeling the semblances of being a person and not an overheated monstrosity.

Rotating her neck and hearing the satisfied clicks of air bubbles she felt her body loosen as her heartbeat lowered itself to an acceptable beat.

Now that she was cool, calm and collected, there was only one thing Sharon wanted to do.

Dance.

With a few quick swipes and taps of her fingers she had music blaring from her personal iPhone.

' _I need a love doctor ahhh aah uu yeah uuu yeah, I need a love doctor ahhh aah uuu yeah. Oh, girl, don't make me last to know.'_

What better way to end a workout than a one woman dance party?

Bouncing around with reckless abandonment around her apartment, Sharon sashayed and twirled to the beat, mouthing along to the words as she leapt off her couch and slid fantastically across the wooden floors.

Her poor neighbors below.

She was in the middle of a sick air guitar move when her phone beeped with an incoming text. Keeping her hips in time to the joyful tempo of the music Sharon pulled out her personal iPhone and saw the incoming text.

She burst out laughing at the image of Catherine's fiancée Jessie posing ridiculously in a fedora as the pair strolled through a farmer's market. His cerulean eyes smoldered with a hint of a chortle blooming in his cheek. Ever since Catherine had accused the third year Cornell medical student that he was behind the times for not understanding the intricacies of Gangham Style, Jessie had been valiantly trying to prove that he was indeed 25, and not a 52 year old trapped in a decidedly smoking hot host body.

So there was the fedora, and the subtle droppings of slang such as "Swag," "Legit," and "Let's bounce" into conversations, as well as the tendency to bellow "Hunger Games!" whenever faced with a tough decision.

Let it not be said that when Jessie Romberg went all in, he went _all_ in.

With a quick swipe of her finger Facetime was up and running and within seconds Catherine Reyes' smiling face was filling up Sharon's screen.

"Share-Bear!" Her oldest friend alive exclaimed jubilantly, the image was shaky as it was obvious that Catherine was strolling the stalls of the market, Jessie's fedora bobbing loyally behind in the background.

"Kit-Kat! What's crackalackin senorita?"

The best thing about talking to your best friend, you had absolute permission to be as nonsensical as possible and no one could blame you. Inside jokes were just par the course.

"The world is coming to an end," Cather proclaimed dramatically, her usual no nonsense attitude that helped her along in law school was replaced with her natural theatrical nature (She had been in all four years of high school theater productions) as her brown eyes lit up with mischief.

"What is it this time? You couldn't find organically sourced quinoa?"

It was no secret, Catherine Reyes, with all her worldliness, was a food snob, along with being a vegan. Heaven helped the man who ever offered her processed food again.

"Romberg and I are on the brink of ruin. I may love him, but I am this close to cutting him loose. He did something truly unforgiveable."

Sharon vociferously gasped playing her part in this narrative.

"What did he do this time?"

Jessie squawked outrageously as he push his beautiful face into the camera to glare Sharon down with his mesmerizing gaze. The thing about Jessie was that he was preposterously good looking. So Sharon counterbalanced that by being as demeaning as possible. Jessie was just as intelligent as he was stunning, but it was so much more fun to reduce him to his washboard abs and Chris Pine like eyes.

"Who said I did anything?! It's Reyes' and her outlandish expectations."

Catherine huffed and shouldered her fiancée as she turned the phone towards her, cropping Jessie out of view.

"I don't think it's too much to _expect_ the man I love most in the world to be able to buy me a yam when I ask for it. But did he bring me a yam? No, he brought me a sweet potato."

"I told you, Woman, they look the same!"

"Hardly, dearest. Is your eye sight going? Should I trust you to one day perform surgeries on people? It's a lawsuit in the making. I may have to prosecute you."

Sharon snorted as she watch the happy couple quip back and forth for her entertainment,

"You want to work in the Office of Legal Affair for the UN, Kit-Kat," Sharon replied, "I really doubt Jessie's misdemeanor is enough to try him in front of the Security Council."

Catherine was in her final year of law school at Columbia and had her eyes set on the UN to play with the big boys. If her current internship at the aforementioned office was anything to go by, then Catherine was well on her way to world domination.

Sharon was simultaneously proud as she was terrified.

She had had a front row seat of Catherine at Model UN. That girl was vicious.

"Boo, and I so like the bad boy types." Catherine batted her eyes at Jessie as he rolled his own and slipped his arm around her shoulder pulling her securely into his side as the two squished their faces together to make funny faces at Sharon.

After several seconds of impressive muscle contortions Catherine asked the question she had been dying to ask for days,

"So, hear anything about Captain America?" Her question was innocent, but Catherine Reyes was far from innocent.

"Yeah, have you seen the man who's strong, and brave and here to save the American Way?" Jessie cheekily saluted her as Sharon rolled her eyes.

"Nice segue you two, real smooth. I have not seen him. I have it on good authority that he is taking a long overdue vacation."

"God, can you believe the world we live in? Men coming back from the dead and aliens dropping out of the sky. Half of New York is still a wreck!" Catherine exclaimed as she looked over rows of strawberries. She held up a bunch, weighing it in her hands before deeming it acceptable and paying the man behind the barrier.

"Yeah, well, Brave New World, and all that. I think this is about to become our new normal."

"I shudder to think what could come next."

"Well, the Avengers will be there to stop it, along with SHIELD."

"So you're our knight in shining armor Share?" Jessie joked as Catherine hand fed him one of the strawberries and he smiled juicily around the fruit morsel. It really was unfair how hot he was.

"Always babe, always. Well, look, lovebirds, as much as I love technologically third wheeling your weird fruit foreplay, I've got to run. We still on for our Skype date on Wednesday?"

"We'll be there! Love you lots bug!"

"You too caterpillar. You kids have fun, but keep it real, keep it clean, keep it real clean."

The only answer she received was two tongues sticking out at her before the screen blacked out.

God. Those two were nauseatingly in love. It was sickening. Sharon may be secretly jealous, but she'd never reveal it, and she had gone through torture training, so it was just a fact of life that she'd go to the grave with that secret.

The sky was blue, aliens existed and yielded magical hammers, and Sharon would never crack under interrogation.

SHIELD…they made people into iron fortresses.

Sharon set her phone down and as she did so she caught a whiff of her own body scent which was staggeringly pungent in the aftermath of her run.

A shower was in order then.

But first, more dancing.

* * *

 _ **May 20**_ _ **th**_ _ **, 2012**_

 _ **Washington, D.C.**_

It was well past midnight when Sharon finally found herself on the doorstep of her own apartment.

What had begun as a simple and benign lunch date with Trip had transformed into lunch, and then one game of pool into three games of pool, into hustling the entire bar of occupants into pool, then into a somewhat boisterous disagreement with a belligerent loser, then into an uproarious bar fight with said loser and all bar occupants, which had resulted in a trip to SHIELD Medical along with bruised knuckles and a fractured ring finger. She was better off than Trip though, with his outstanding black eye and concussion.

All in all it had been a rather average day.

Sharon flexed her hand tiredly and gave a mild wince at the dull stab of pain that radiated from her palm.

"Tylenol," she whispered to herself as she unlocked her front door and staggered wearily into the darkened abode, "I need Tylenol."

She dropped her purse onto the side table and listened to the jingle of her keys as she dropped them into the porcelain decorative bowl her mother insisted she buy. It was only due to the numerous times she had trod through her apartment that she could maneuver down the hallway without bumping into walls or shoes scattered around the floor.

As she was coming upon the living room that she suddenly froze. Her ears strained into the silence as she mutely pressed herself into the wall, regulating her breathing and taking in deep, calming breaths.

There was someone in her apartment.

Silently her right hand slipped to the waistband of her jeans and with calculated movements she removed her Glock 19 and brought it up to eye level. She clicked off the safety and lowered the gun as she tilted her towards the living room, listening for any noise that could be of use.

The air was unnaturally still and there was no disruption to give anything away. It seemed the two would be locked in a game of chicken until someone broke first.

Sharon understood patience and staying the course, but someone was in her territory and there was no way she was hiding out in the hallway until they came hunting.

Quickly going over the mental map of her living room, categorizing furniture and windows, she made a game plan, and with one final deep breath she sprang into action. She jolted herself into the living room and threw herself down to the wooden floor, rolling across the aged wood with ease. She landed on her feet in a tight crouch in front of the couch and aimed the gun towards the grey divan.

In the dark she could make out a black shape that was, for lack of a better word, _lounging_ across the sofa. The confusion she felt was pushed away as adrenaline began seeping into her pores and she tightened her grip on the pistol.

A favorite saying of Fury's flashed across her brain, _"Sometimes it's better to shoot first and ask questions later. You can't ask questions if you're dead."_

Her finger inched towards the trigger as the shadow continued lounging as an amused voice broke through the darkness.

"Is that any way to treat family, Share-Bear?"

Sharon instantly relaxed as the shape moved and with a click the room was flooded with the light of Sharon's second favorite lamp that she had found in a daylong garage sale hunting excursion with her mother.

The black shape, in all its annoyingly smug glory was none other than Sharon's cousin, Greer Martin. Blonde, blue eyed, with full lips pulled up into a smirk to rival Natasha, Greer was a right pain in Sharon's ass, but she loved her anyway. She was spread out across the couch and hadn't even bother to take off her combat boots as she unrepentantly rested her feet on one of Sharon's numerous throw pillows.

The barbarian.

Of all her extended blood relatives, (besides Peggy of course) Greer was unquestionably Sharon's favorite. Looking more like sisters than cousins, and with little more than a year separating them, the two girls had grown up thicker than thieves and the mischief they had gotten up to had been just short of legendary.

While Sharon had followed Peggy's footsteps towards SHIELD after graduating from Georgetown, Greer had graduated top of her class at Dartmouth and had fast-tracked her way right into the CIA.

Of all the various progenies of the Margaret and Michael Carter family trees it was only Sharon and Greer who had followed in the spies' footsteps.

Peggy's daughter Jill had found success as Ambassador to the UK, Sharon's father, Harrison, was a professor of literature at Georgetown and Greer's mother, Judy, was a pioneering neurosurgeon.

Let it be known that Carters very rarely failed at anything they did.

Yet it was Sharon and Greer who went into espionage and the high risk career of trying to save the world from itself on a regular basis.

Still. That didn't give her cousin any right to break and enter into her sanctuary.

"Greer," Sharon greeted dryly as she rose from her crouch, "You know I've told you a hundred times to use the front door. You know, like a civilized person."

Greer scoffed as she crossed her legs and rubbed her still shoed feet over Sharon's throw pillow.

Now she was just doing it on purpose.

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Remind me to never introduce you to Natasha Romanoff," Sharon grumbled as she none so gently pushed Greer's feet off the couch and plopped down noisily next to her cousin. She grabbed her squished throw pillow and after punching some life back into it, she settled it behind her and leaned back to regard Greer fully.

She loved it when family got together.

"Oh, please, we met long ago." Greer responded gleefully, her smile absolutely wicked as a cold chill settled over Sharon.

Nat and Greer interacting with one another?

Yikes.

Sharon groaned in response and sunk further down into the couch as her cousin's grin amplified. God, she wished she had some alcohol right now.

"Do I even want to know how you two know each other?"

"Nope." Greer popped the 'p' as she reached out and toed Sharon's thigh as the SHIELD agent lightly batted her away.

"Hopefully your friendship isn't at my expense."

"But it makes for some great text threads."

Wonderful.

Sharon dropped her head to the back of the couch and turned to the side to observe her cousin.

She looked to be in working order, no signs of any external injuries, bright eyes and no bags beneath them, she had sprawled easily with no signs of fatigue or stiffness.

It looks like wherever she had been gallivanting off to for the past month hadn't hit back too hard.

"Just get back in from wherever you were?"

"Yesterday. I was in Mozambique. I'd tell you about it, but it's-"

"Classified," the two blondes finished together as Sharon weakly nodded and chuckled.

It was always nice to have someone not to talk about work with.

"Everything go according to plan?"

"For the most part."

"You make people pay?"

"Better yet, I made them cry."

"Good girl."

The two exchanged grins as Greer's blue eyes began raking over Sharon, evidently taking the same inventory of her cousin that Sharon had completed only moments before. They moved to her hand and stopped as she reached out and held up Sharon's hand for consideration. She turned over Sharon's palm and stopped when she saw the majority of the minimal damage was targeted at Sharon's knuckles. She lowered her hand and raised an eyebrow as she regarded Sharon evenly.

"Get into a punching match at SHIELD?"

"Even better, I went out with Trip."

Greer snorted as she turned her body fully towards Sharon.

"Suddenly, everything makes sense. Now what trouble did that boy get up to because clearly he needed saving of some sort."

Sharon relayed the sordid tale as Greer watched on with fascination. By the end, she was clutching her sides from laughing so hard and wiping stray tears from her eyes.

"He did not try to karate chop his way through a gang of bikers?!"

"If I'm lying, I'm dying. God's honest truth. You should have heard him. He was screaming like a little girl."

The two Carter descendants once more burst out into laughter and it took several minutes to reign the two back in. It was silent for a moment or two before Greer's eyes flashed playfully.

"So, how is our dear Triplett? Is he single by any chance? Having you ever thought of trying to tap that beautiful chocolate ass?"

"Greer!" Sharon proclaimed wondering if her best course of action would be to stick her fingers in her ears and go 'lalalala, I can't hear you.'

"What? Don't tell me you forget about that massive torch you carried for him during high school? You hacked the Atlanta Hawks internal database in order to secure him season passes to their home games."

Sharon blushed. That hadn't been her proudest moment. Most girls when they had schoolyard crushes on boys would flirt, bat their eyes, and stroke their arms. Sharon had committed felonies.

Her mother had not been pleased. Peggy had also scoffed at her attempts to woo Gabe Jones' grandson, but had taken her aside to secretly express her admiration for Sharon's ingenuity.

In the end Trip never saw her as more than an annoyingly endearing cousin in the sea of Legacies. Sharon had licked her wounds and then went on to date the senior valedictorian.

Sharon felt the flush of her cheeks and rolled her eyes as Greer cajoled from next to her and knocked her shoulder.

God she could use some wine like yesterday.

"I was fifteen. He had a mustang," she said as if that explained everything. And really, it did.

Greer propped her head up in the palm of her hand as she nodded reminiscently and absentmindedly licked her lips.

"Ooh, I remember. I let him get to third base in that mustang."

Well, wasn't that just typical.

"And now my childhood is ruined, thanks Greer."

"Anything for you Shar."

Sharon elbowed her in the side as Greer shoved her to the farther side of the couch. A minute standoff and the two were ready to relax and sprawl across the couch catching up on family drama and gossip as well as cryptically talking shop. Greer was curious about the Avengers but expressed little to no interest in Steve Rogers and Sharon didn't volunteer any information.

Conversation lulled for a moment before Greer asked with forced nonchalance, "So how's Old Woman Carter?"

Greer and Peggy had never been remarkably close. As both were two badass women who kicked butt and took names, there was respect, but they had never been close the way Sharon was to Peggy.

Sharon lightly shrugged. She had seen Peggy just the day before for an hour. It had been a good day, but she had started fading at the end and Sharon had left before it could get worse.

"She's okay, she has her good and bad days. But she's holding up."

"It'd take a lot to kill her."

Sharon made a noise of agreement as Greer rested her eyes on her.

"She have much to say about Rogers' rise from the grave?"

Sharon bristled uncomfortably. Peggy's feelings for Rogers were…common knowledge to say the least. Everyone had always acted like they knew the full extent of that relationship due to what they had read in the history books and remarks Howard Stark had once made to a room of reporters while tipsy back in the '70s.

What had always bothered Sharon was the fact that such bystanders had always felt entitled to be able to feel Peggy's pain because Captain America was an American pantheon. The truth of the matter was, it was no one's business except Peggy's, and now Rogers', about what had happened in their short lived love affair.

The rest of the world had no right to that knowledge.

"What makes you think she'd share it with me if she had?"

Greer's eyes narrowed disbelievingly as Sharon curled into herself.

"Please. She likes you more than her own grandchildren."

Sharon winced. Peggy's relationship with her family had always been…complicated, to say the least. While Uncle Daniel had always been Peggy's most staunch supporter and even her Deputy Director, her daughter Jill had resented having to share Peggy with the rest of the world and that resentment carried onto her children.

Now that Peggy was sick, things were better. But it had taken years for reconciliation to occur and Daniel hadn't even been alive to see it.

"That's not… _entirely_ true. Besides, I was all she had for a while."

"Save me the pity party, Carter always knew what she was doing," Greer's voice was crisp as Sharon sighed and nodded.

A stifling silence pressed upon them for a moment before Greer's expression softened and she poked Sharon in the side, giggling when Sharon jerked forward.

"Well, I'm glad you've been there for her. It's been good for you too."

Sharon shrugged, neither agreeing to nor denying Greer's statement. Greer settled back into the couch and picked up Sharon's remote.

"You get Netflix on this thing?"

Sharon huffed a laugh and nodded as the screen came to life.

"Fantastic. We're watching _Friends._ "

Sharon acquiesced and soon they were in the middle of Season Four. It was when the third episode was beginning that Sharon nudged Greer softly.

"I'm glad you made it back safe, Greer."

"Thanks Share-Bear. Me too."


End file.
